This is How it Starts
by Alyss Ashworth
Summary: She needs a vacation, Misty decides. She needs a break, a sabbatical, a holiday. She needs to do some soul searching, needs to find herself in a place that isn't the lobby's couch at 2am doing paperwork and editing the newest play Daisy's cooked up.


This story is an homage to all the lovely people who still read and review my work (seriously, you guys are beautiful, and without you this story would never have been written), and a self-reflection of a soon to be college graduate who has no plans for the future.

This story was supposed to have a lot more kissing and instead it just has a lot of angst #whatrugonnado

ps Editing is for squares sorry for all silly mistakes

* * *

**This is How it Starts**

It starts like this.

It starts with Misty yelling at her sisters. It starts with the filter on the pool being broken, with the shower water turning cold too soon, with the stack of dishes in the sink that have sat there for three weeks because she didn't make them damn it so she's not washing them. When she sees the green slime on the bottom of the pool after a particular nasty battle with an upshot and his Servine—honestly, how does a ten-year manage to train and command a Servine? Ash could barely handle Pikachu right out the gate—that's it. That's when the yelling and the arm waving and the letting lose of what is probably years of pent up irritation starts.

She needs a vacation, Misty decides in the middle of her tirade, when Violet and Lily actually start to look guilty. She needs a break, a sabbatical, a holiday. She needs to do some soul searching, needs to find herself in a place that isn't the lobby's couch at 2am doing paperwork and editing the newest play Daisy's cooked up.

It takes less than twenty minutes to pack her bags, a little longer to write out a list of daily chores, a few heartfelt minutes with the pokemon, explaining that she wants but can't possibly take them all, and then two seconds to walk out the gym. Misty has an ominous feeling when the doors whoosh closed behind her, like the giant Dewgong still hanging on the roof will crash and fall, just like the Cerulean Gym's reputation will undoubtedly nose dive under the Sensationally Silly Sister's leadership.

Misty readjusts her backpack—the trusty red knapsack is inside, no longer practical but there for old time's sake—and decides she really doesn't care.

To hell with it all. She's going fishing.

* * *

Misty's on a boat. She's living on a boat because Mr. Briny owes her one, and she doesn't have a Lapras or a Wailord. Gyrados would scare all the other pokemon away. And really, sailing via pokemon only works when you're island hopping. Being on the water 24/7 is tiring, and Misty isn't that prick who won't give her pokemon a well-needed rest.

She knows what it's liked to be worked to the bone.

The boat is nice, though. It has a little cabin below deck, barely large enough for herself and a few clothes, and a kitchenette that's protected on three sides by boat and plexi-glass windows. There's a sail and a motor, and she buys a cheap hammock before leaving Slateport city.

That damned Peeko, Misty thinks as she and Psyduck bring in the sail for the night. That dopey bird just never sits still. Never knows which way the winds are blowing and when to wait out the storm.

Psyduck topples overboard again, and Misty thinks she can't really talk. Even a bird-brained wingull is smarter than her ugly duckling. She grabs the hooker pole to lift him out before the poor thing drowns himself.

She eats that night with Politoad, Psyduck, and Starmie. The waves take over the conversation, babbling at the edge of the boat. The stars are bright, so she leaves the hatch in the roof of her cabin open and feels something lift in her chest with each rock of the swells.

* * *

Misty is somewhere between Jhoto and Hoenn, south enough to see Pelippers and east enough to spot a lone Dewgong or two among the Spheal.

The Spheal are kind of ridiculous, actually. Misty always thought they preferred cold waters what with all that blubber and padding, but they happily roll along in the tepid waves of whatever ocean she's in now. Goes to show how much of a water pokemon expert she became. So the Spheals and her lack of knowledge on them kind of pisses her off for a while, but it's really hard to stay mad at Spheals. They're so fat and happy. Misty thinks she'd want to come back as a Spheal, if reincarnation is a thing.

She's contemplating the Spheals when it happens. She's fishing, her mind on reincarnation or whatever instead of what she'll catch because everyone knows a watched ball doesn't settle, and suddenly her rod jerks. Her super rod with her lucky Misty charm. She crows. She knew it wouldn't let her down. The catch must be a big one, because it takes her _and_ Corsola clutching at her heel to reel it in.

"Arceus DAMN IT Ash! One of these days I'm actually going to catch a god-damn Goldeen!" She shouts at him, throwing a couple of punches in there as well. It's not like shouting at her sisters. It feels good.

Ash grumbles and takes a few hits, swats the rest away. He sit on the side of her boat—it's old and pretty run down, Mr. Briny told her he never uses it anymore so it's practically all hers, and doesn't that sound nice?—and rings out his jacket. It must be eighty degrees and this kid is wearing a jacket. Misty wonders.

"Don't you already have like, ten thousand Goldeen?" Ash asks petulantly. "Or at least ten?" He's on to ringing out his hat. It's the old hat, the one from Kanto and the Orange Islands and Johto. He must have stopped at home. She wonders some more.

"That's not the point," Misty says because it's not and he knows it, really. It's not about the Goldeen.

Ash nods and lays the hat and jacket out to dry on the top deck. Misty casts her line back out and pats herself on the back for buying that hammock.

You can never have too many Goldeen.

* * *

They don't talk much that first night. It's really weird, because Misty has one thousand and one questions—_Why do you have your old hat? Why is only Pikachu with you? Did you ever get to Kalos? How in Ho-Oh's name did you end up in my boat?—_but Ash is uncharacteristically silent, and so Misty is uncharacteristically silent. It's sorta fitting. Instead of arguing with each other, now they're just silent with each other.

But Misty misses the fighting. She doesn't know what to do with this new Ash. Does she throw him in the sea or hug him until she finally squeezes a noise out of him?

It's been nine years since they've traveled together, and that time makes the 40ft boat seem endless.

Finally, Misty can't take it anymore. She wakes up one morning and shoves at the hammock until Ash rolls out and crashes to the deck, almost squashing Pikachu.

"Ow! What the hell, Misty?"

"Up and att'em," Misty says, going to check her fishing pole. No bites, but the sky is clear and the water is bluer than an Azurill's belly. She breaths in salt spray and relaxes.

"You're on lunch duty." She swings back into the kitchen area. "Since you've crashed my vacation and all, it's the least you could do. You've also messed up my supply route." Misty takes down a ream of maps and charts as Ash bumbles into the kitchenette. She had stocked the boat with enough canned goods to allow weeks before restocking at a local island became necessary. She had set up a Pelipper-order service back in Slateport to fly in a parcel or two of perishable good like vegetables and milk, but that had been for only one person and a couple of pokemon.

"You still eat like a fifteen-year-old, right?" Misty says off-handedly, fingers skipping over the map and sextant as she plotted a new course. The islands in their area are satellites of the Orange Islands, but maintain a pretty strict independence from the main Archipelago. There would be grocery and convenience stores on the largest of them.

"Yeah." Misty lifts her head to see Ash scowling at the cupboards. "What am I supposed to make with pineapple juice and Mac'n Cheese?"

She grabs a pen and starts drawing in new lines. "There are eggs in the fridge," she says, "and the pineapple juice goes great with rum."

Ash shoots her a look, she can feel it even with her eyes on the map, but pretty soon there's the noise of a frying pan clanging on the stove and lunch being made. Pikachu hops up on the table next to her and she scratches under his chin.

"I missed you sweetie," Misty cooes, rubbing his ears. "You must be exhausted from your dip in the ocean!"

"I am pretty tired," Ash admits.

Misty snorts. "I was talking to Pikachu," she says. "Poor thing is still damp. What the hell happened to you guys?"

Ash shrugs as he set a plate of eggs in front of her. It looks like he's blushing. "Big storm," he says, turning back to the stove to cook his own meal. "We got swept away from Pallet Beach. Drifted with some Remoraid for a while, but we got separated by a group of Sharpedo."

Misty almost chokes on her eggs. "Does your mother know you're okay?" she demands. "Does anyone know where you are?"

"I'm sure she assumes I'm okay. Arceus knows she's used to not knowing exactly where I am or what I'm doing," he laughs.

Talking might be awkward, but giving Ash a good smack about the head isn't, Misty is pleased to see. "What the hell, Ketchum!" She's shouting. "Who goes swimming without any water pokemon? And why didn't you send off a Wingull to your mom _yesterday _when you had the chance?"

Ash fends her off after a moment with a spatula and scowls right back. "Well, we don't have any flying pokemon on us!" He says. "I was a little busy being happy I was alive to phone home, okay!"

Misty sighs and sits back down. "First off, there is a radio on this boat, which I suggest you employ asap to see if you can pick up a signal," she says, "and second, you've participated in how many leagues, traveled how many miles, and meet how many legendary pokemon, and yet you _still _can't catch a Wingull?"

Ash is silent. To be fair, making eggs takes a lot of concentration. Misty knows. She usually ends up burning them. Who likes runny eggs? Weirdoes, that's who. Better burnt than runny.

"I'm sorry," Ash mumbles when he brings his plate over. Pikachu immediately hops into his lap and eyes the eggs hungrily. "I'll get out of here as soon as possible. Sorry to crash your holiday."

Misty is put off by the quiet, conciliatory young man next to her. She was expecting a put upon sigh, a rolling of eyes, a, "I don't even have my Nav on me, how am I supposed to catch a Wingull with no Nav and no pokeballs on the open ocean, Mist?" But here he is apologizing for running into her in the middle of nowhere, when she's really just worried about Deliah having a heart attack. Thank god Mr. Mime knows Calm Mind.

If she had problem with Ash hanging around, she would have thrown him back into the river years ago.

"Hold your Ponyta, Ketchum," she tells her breakfast. "I'm not letting you go that easily. Politoad makes an excellent first mate, but if we're docking into different ports for food and the like then I'm going to need hooker."

Ash looks like he doesn't know whether to laugh or be insulted.

* * *

They manage to get in touch with a radio tower pretty easily—so much for her solitary serenity, Misty thinks—and the radio-man promises to get a message to Professor Oak. Ash doesn't mention how long he'll be gone in his message home, and Misty doesn't bring it up.

She does crack out the rum that night. She thinks it's a good start to their trip—because it's _theirs _now, and not _hers_. She thinks playing a game of Chance-y and sipping a tropical drink is a great way to start things off again. They're not ten and eleven. They're twenty-three and twenty-four, if she remembers correctly, and it's been years.

They talk—argue really—about stuff like how Pikachu's coat is getting a little long, are you brushing him every week? are you feeding him right? And don't talk smack about my Pikachu when Starmie's gem looks like hasn't been polished in ages, you call yourself a gym leader?

It's different and it's not.

* * *

"Aren't you supposed to be battling your way to the championships of some other region right now?" Misty asks the next day. She doesn't look at Ash, not even with the cover her sunglasses afford.

Said champion is slumped over the back rail, looking like he's going to puke but not feeling real happy about it. He'll feel better if he does. Mac'n Cheese is not the best hangover food when you're on the rolling ocean.

Ash doesn't answer her. He says instead, "Do you know how many shoes I've gone through? Like, sneakers and hiking boots and running shoes?"

Misty doesn't know.

"Like ten. Or Twenty. Twenty-seven. Some outrageous number," Ash musters the energy to flail his arms a bit. "I've busted the soles, toes, and linings of so many pairs of shoes I can't remember how many. Don't get me started on socks. I haven't had a matching pair of socks since I was nine."

It's quiet again, aside from the chatter of waves and the soft conversation Pikachu and Politoad are having at the bow. Misty has to keep her eyes on the horizon, has to keep the boat in line. She's still a little rusty on how to steer a boat with a sail. It's been a few years since she got her certification.

"Well," she says after a few miles. "You don't need shoes out here."

She looks back to see Ash grinning at her.

* * *

The middle goes like this.

They spend days on the boat. Ash starts talking again, and Misty expels the breath she was holding, feels the wave of tension (ha. ocean puns) she kept holding back push them into brighter waters. He's asking her about the gym, about Daisy-Liliac-Indigo—I know her name is Violet, Mist, just givin' you a hard time, jeez, thought you'd appreciate it—

Ash cooks dinner because they both know she can't cook real meals for shit. She makes breakfast, though, to redeem her pride and show him that she's changed. Grown up. Rounded out, gotten better, is more than just some angry red head.

She burns the eggs a couple of times because she knows she shouldn't _have _to impress him, shouldn't _want _to impress him, has always been good enough for herself, so that's good enough for everyone else. She cooks eggs and toast in a pan, dives with Politoad for some fresh seaweed for lunch—she has to dare Ash to eat it, and he still pulls faces every time even though he loves it, she knows—and they get by.

Pelipper brings mail from home. From Deliah, specifically. She spends a fragment yelling at Ash, but the rest of the postcard is directed at Misty. How is she doing? How is that new cleaner solution working on the gym's pool? Is she planning on taking up the Indigo League's offer to fund her research on Corsola conservation off the coast of Cianwood? She knows a lovely family there from her college years who would be willing to give her board if the League is being skimpy with funds.

Ash looks a little upset that he isn't missed, hasn't gotten mail from the rest of his three musketeers, whoever they are this time. He doesn't ask her about the Corsola research, but he's oddly quiet during their afternoon swim. He watches her Horsea around with the pokemon, and she feels like they're back on square one and maybe it's time to break out the really good rum.

She and Pikachu double team him, pulling him in the ocean and keeping him under for at least a minute. Misty grins as she locks Ash into noogie. Some things haven't changed, at least.

* * *

It's not like they don't see _anyone_. The ocean might be big, but it's a small world. They run into a couple of sister-brother tag teams (who wants to hang out all day with their sibling?) and a couple of Ace Trainers floating around (do they even have Wailmers? How are they balancing like that?)

"Starmie, rapid spin!" Misty yells from the side of the boat.

"Heeeyyyaaaa!" Her beautiful pokemon yells, and its ridges dig into the Ace Trainer's Tentacruel. Misty hates to hurt a fellow water pokemon, but really, what idiot has their Tentacruel use wrap on a prickly foe like Starmie?

"Time to get some air, Mist!" Ash whoops next to her. Pikachu has just broken away from a nasty Cloyster and its zap canon.

Misty flashes him a grin. "Got it. Let's fly, Starmie!" she encourages.

Starmie redirects its rapid spin so it flies into the air, giving Pikachu just enough time to shut the battle down with a thunder that makes the water crackle and broil with electricity.

"G-g-ood, battle," huffs out the Ace Trainer, hair still sparking with static.

Misty catches Pikachu as he bounds back to the boat and smiles when she hears Ash laugh.

"It was awesome!" he says, and she can't agree more.

* * *

"Are you happy, Mist?"

The question comes out of nowhere, like a passing Wingull dropped it out of the night sky plop! into her hammock. She can see Ash shifting on the deck below.

"I know the gym was never really your thing. You wanted to be a water pokemon master. But you're really good at it, you know? I hear it all the time from other gym leaders, and on the Nav. It's something to be proud of, and I know you _are_ proud of it. But now gettin' research sponsored by the League…"

Ash is quiet for a while. Misty holds her breath.

"Can you give it up?" he says softly. "Can you just give up the gym? Everything you've put into it, everything you've built it up to be. What people expect from you."

Misty sighs heavily. It's about the gym and it isn't about the gym. It's like the Bike Thing.

"I love Cerulean gym," she says, finally. She strokes Politoad, who claps happily in his sleep. "I'm really proud of the it's reputation. How we've managed to become something more than just a theatre, but also something more than just a battleground for badges. I teach swim lessons, and do rehabilitation for people and pokemon. We still put on shows, but they're a lot more community inclusive, and we team up with charities for fundraisers.

"I still train my pokemon and fight challengers, because no way in hell am I gonna let people think Cerulean's leader is soft," Misty's voice gets louder, and Politoad wakes up. He pumps his fist in the air, seeming to catch the last of her speech, and quickly drifts off. Misty laughs and continues,

"But sometimes, I just need to come out here and be away from all that. I need to be with my pokemon, alone. I need to jump in the water and not come up right away, just soak it all in and remember what it feels like to be in love with it.

"I'm not just the gym, Ash," Misty says. "I'm not just a gym leader, or a researcher, or a water pokemon expert. At the heart of everything, I'm me," she says, "and as long as I bring that to whatever I'm doing, then, I'm not really giving anything up, am I?"

The wind and waves carry the conversation.

"My dad was a pokemon trainer," Ash says. He sounds salty, but maybe that's just the day's brine still clinging to him. "He left and became this great trainer, apparently. But you never hear about him. I got a letter, once or twice, and mom got some. 'I'm climbin' the ranks, Ash!' he always said. 'I'm almost there!'" Ash scoffs. "I dunno where he went. I never saw him on TV, we never got any trophies in the mail.

"Maybe I'm just trying to make up for him," Ash continues. "Maybe I'm just trying to prove something to my mom, to myself. That I'm a trainer who's recognized and _known_. Who's won badges and titles and trophies and has _proof_ that I worked hard, that I did my best. That I'm real."

Misty doesn't know what to say. She rolls out of the hammock, careful not to take Politoad with her, and drops down beside Ash.

"Arceus, Ketchum," she breathes out. "Where's that naïve little kid who gets tricked by Team Rocket's terrible costumes on a daily basis?"

"James is really good at make-up, okay!" Ash defends himself hotly before deflating like a Qwilfish. "I'm, I'm sorry. You came out here to relax and be alone, and here I am like a great big Grimer just mucking everything up."

Misty groans and bumps her shoulder into his, almost shoving Ash in the water. "Not what I meant, Ashy-boy," she scolds. "So you don't wanna be a pokemon master? Okay. Fine. Don't follow in your father's footsteps. Do what you want. Be like, a pokemon guide or whatever. Take people into the wild and show them all the places you've been. Work with Professor Oak and Gary. Start your own pokemon gym that specializes in not specializing. Become a hermit. Build a better Rattata trap."

Misty swings one leg wide so she can face Ash head on. She grabs his ears and pulls him in close, so she has his attention. She doesn't want to repeat herself. Pokemon, gym battles, boats—those are her thing. Emotions, eh. Not so much.

"Ash Ketchum," she says firmly. "You can be whatever you god damn wanna be. And you will still be great. And I will still be proud. And you will always, always be real, and matter. You don't need a certain number of gym badges to be my friend, okay?"

Ash looks at her wide-eyed and a bit cross-eyed. They're pretty close; Misty can feel his breath on her nose. He looks scared, like the boy who was desperate to save his Pikachu from a flock of Spearow. But he's also got that glint in his eye, the one that says, I'm Ash Ketchum, I'm the Chosen One.

When he kisses her, it's kinda surprising, and it's kinda not. It's like the Bike Thing. Why did she stick around all those years?

She runs her hand through his hair and pulls a little. Dragging him out of that river was totally worth it.

* * *

It ends like this. It ends with Ash and Misty, arguing about whether they should turn left at that next island-shaped lump on the horizon or right, Mew, can't you read a map? It ends with more hangovers and more wasted Mac N' Cheese. It ends with pokemon battles, against and with each other, and triumphant high fives.

It ends with them finding out it's really hard to spoon in a hammock and dragging blankets out on deck so they can curl up comfortably, pokemon and all.

It ends with a lot more questions than it started with, but all of the important ones are answered.

It doesn't really end, after all.


End file.
